Shambhala

by Miller, Brian E.

  Bahi smiles, accepting the generous gift as he gives her a long hug. They both wish they could hold on forever. “I will have to leave in a few hours. I’ll buy you breakfast,” Bahi says playfully holding up the money. Eva’s frown counters the smile in her eyes.

  “I feel like I just won Indian Millionaire,” Bahi says as he fans out the cash, lightening the mood.

  Heading out for breakfast, they walk slowly, enjoying their final time with each other. Over breakfast they eat and gaze into each other’s eyes as if they will never see each other again. “How do you even know where to begin?” Eva asks.

  “I’ll head North, as per the Baba’s instructions.” Bahi goes on to explain a little of his journey so far, omitting any conversation of talking animals so as to avoid a trip to the psychiatrist before leaving.

  Finishing breakfast they walk to the main road. Bahi shops around, looking for anything that might be beneficial to his journey ahead. He buys a blue-and-black backpack, a classic name brand knockoff, from a small shop before moving on to a small garment shop next store. Looking around the small garment shop, tightly packed with hand stitched cotton, wool and linen wears, he greets the small woman busy at work with a large ball of yarn. Finding some warm wool socks and a warm black-and-white wool hat with fleece lining, he knows these will come in handy, especially as he goes further North. Eva comes over from the shop next door, holding up light orange-and-gray hiking shoes. “How about these?”

  “Perfect,” he says, leaving payment on the knitting woman’s counter before going over to the shoe shop to fit his size. Putting on his new shoes, he secures the rest of his purchases in his backpack, and they walk off along the road, coming to a produce shop. After a short look around, he comes to the counter, holding apples, oranges, potatoes, nuts, and a small box of butter. Moving along on his shopping spree, he stops off at a shop where he loads up with biscuits, bread, a few packs of matches, a small pot to cook with, and a silver spoon. Feeling he is well prepared, he takes a deep breath as the two stop in silence at the edge of the road.

  “Well, Eva, beautiful Eva,” he says as a tear falls down her cheek. Bahi wants badly to stay, but knows that moving on is the right thing. He places the three thousand rupees, left over from Eva’s gift into his pocket and hugs Eva tight. “Thank you so much for all of your kindness and love,” Bahi says as Eva pushes back.

  “I almost forgot,” she says handing him a business card that reads, Eva McCreary Wellness.

  “This is all my contact information, if you need anything, please call me,” she says. Bahi looks down at the card in a moment of silence. “Call me after you reach Shambhala. I want to be the first to know before you become an overnight sensation,” she says, lifting Bahi’s head with a smile as he looks again into her eyes.

  “Eva, I definitely will. Like I said, I promise to repay your kindness.”

  They stand in the stillness of the moment. “Well then, off with ya!” Eva says in quick Irish sternness, trying not to cry

  “Yes, off I go.” Bahi kisses her softly on the forehead, then on the lips, before turning to sever, walking away. After a few feet he turns back to see her, as she waves to him. He waves back, and as he turns a street corner, she drops out of sight. Passing the path where he had entered the town only a few days prior, he looks in on the forest and thinks of how he feels like a completely different person than the tattered man who came into this city. Refreshed and renewed, he passes the cross and walks on northward upon a road that quietens as it leaves the busy city. On the tranquil street, he encounters a woman holding her child on her way toward town.

  “Sir. Baby. Please,” she says looking down to the baby for sympathy.

  He can see she suffers greatly. Her filthy, tattered clothes and skinny baby indicate her pain. He remembers this woman from the other day and is reminded also of his wish to help, but had no money. Taking the bundle of three thousand rupees from his pocket, he hands it to her as she quickly grasps in disbelief. “Thank you, sir, thank you.” Her eyes light up, and thinking he must be mistaken, she quickly conceals the money in her tattered garb.

  “Thank you!” Bahi says as he turns and walks the winding road North, breathing in the morning air.

  The dusty road is quiet, except for the occasional truck and other vehicles that dip in and out of the sun on the twisting road. Noticing how the road quickly becomes chilly in the shade, he rejoices now, having proper clothing for his trek North. After walking for about an hour, he stops to let the sun shine on his face. A truck holding a large winch on its back presses around the corner and slows as it approaches Bahi. It hums to a stop with a hiss that seems to kick up dust into the streams of light peeking out from the hillside.

  “You ride?” The Indian driver offers.

  “Sure! Going North,” Bahi says, pointing in the direction, noting the driver’s broken English.

  “Where from?” the driver, dirty from a morning of work, asks.

  “U.S.A.,” Bahi says, remembering his conversation with Eva.

  “Oh, U.S.A. number one!” he says with a smile, as Bahi hops on the flat bed in the back and holds on.

  “Where going?” the driver shouts back through the slim window in the driver’s cabin as the truck begins to move.

  “Shambhala!” Bahi yells. The passenger turns with a look of confusion, “North,” Bahi says pointing upward.

  “Oh North, North, we take you.”

  “Thank you!” Bahi shouts as the vehicle, now in full throttle, makes it near impossible to hear.

  Bahi hangs on tight as the countryside whips by. Feeling the excitement of a small child, he enjoys the ride. They pass twists and turns of woodlands and jungles, the quiet landscape offers much to look at, from simple, small villages adorned with huts, to serene, lush fields. After an hour of driving, the truck comes to a stop at a crossroad. “Going East,” the driver says, sliding the glass window open to talk to Bahi.

  “Thank you,” Bahi says as he hops down from the vehicle.

  As they pull away into the East Bahi stretches his legs and looks around, making a quick calculation of where North is from where the truck pulled off. Noticing one road goes East, one West and the South road they came from which turns West, he looks North, where a steep hill stands devoid of road. A small opening into the forest hill has a sign with Hindi writing on it and an orange Om symbol painted on top. How auspicious! he thinks, noting the irony of where he was dropped off. “Back into the woods,” he says outloud as he ascends up the small hill. Climbing the rocky path upward, his hands down as he crawls up the steep knoll, he reaches the top of the trail, noticing it flattens out a bit from there. Pieces of rock sporadically line the trail laid with pine needles, a bird chirps, and another hoots as monkeys quickly scurry through the trees above.

  Taking an apple from his bag, he bites into it, slurping a big bite as he crunches and walks. Hearing a rustle up ahead, he can make out a goat, with yellow-stained fur and corkscrew horns, hopping up and down, its hind legs caught in some sticker bushes.

  “You need some help?” Bahi asks as he draws closer, trying not to laugh at the old goat hopping up and down on her front legs in an attempt to kick the sticker bush from her entrapped hind legs.

  “Would you be a doll and help a frail, old goat,” she begs kindly.

  Bahi takes hold of the sticker bush stick that must have clung to her and ripped it from its bush. Careful not to stick himself, he rips it from her fur. “Thanks, young man, that’s better,” she says shivering her legs in a tremble of freedom. “Back’s not what it used to be,” she notes as she leads Bahi with a slow hobble of a walk. “Where are you off to?”

  “Shambhala, have you heard of it?”

  The goat stops and thinks earnestly, “No, I don’t believe I have, and I’ve been around awhile. I’m the eldest goat in these parts. Must be far from here, cuz I know every nook and cranny as far
as the eye can see from these hills.”

  “To be honest, I am not really sure where it is. I am told it’s way North, and if I keep on northward I’ll find it. They say it’s a pure land of perfect bliss, where the wise live and can answer any question,” Bahi explains, feeling an excitement well up inside.

  “Oh! Shambhala, you call it, ay?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Bahi asks eagerly.

  “Oh yes, many times in stories. Most animals won’t know what it is, but as a young goat, I hung around with a friend, another goat, who used to live on the small land of a very wise man who was able to communicate with animals like you,” she says scrunching her brow and just now realizing she is communicating with a human. “The man would tell stories of this Shambhala, as you call it, or the pure land.” The goat stops to engage Bahi in the nostalgia of the topic. “It is said there grows a wish-fulfilling cow and hills wrought with wish-granting jewels, but who knows, goats like to fantasize,” she says, shrugging off the seriousness of it all.

  “Do you know where this wise man lives?”

  “I do, although there have been many stories told to me about this man through my dear friend, rest his soul,” the goat says, bowing her head in reverence. “He told me he would gather animals who were doomed to be slaughtered and care for them, eventually releasing them back into the forest. My friend was one of them. He would tell us wild tales about this wise man who had great powers. And from what I gather, it may be difficult to talk to him.”

  “How so?” Bahi inquires.

  “He told of how men would come to seek his wisdom, and he would not see them for days, weeks, and they would be left to sleep outside on the stoop. Many would leave, and even those who stayed night after night would seldom be let in for his great wisdom.”

  “I feel I need to try. Just going North is a broad destination, and my hope was that along the way I would meet someone who could guide me closer.”

  “Come, my deary, I’ll show you the way,” the old goat says, her slim, diamond pupils peering at him wearily before turning to lead the way.

  Walking a short distance, Bahi keeps pace with the old goat, slow with age. They come to a hilltop and walk to its precipice, looking out over the land.

  “I’ve spent my life here. I love these blessed hills,” she says, sighing out a deep breath. “You see off beyond that large tree there?” she asks.

  “I do.”

  “Where you pass that tree, there is a trail that runs all the way up to the wise man’s cottage. It’s quite a distance, maybe a few days by foot.”

  Bahi looks in contemplation, and noticing that the trail runs westward, diverting from his northern plans, he feels that it would be beneficial to seek this man out instead of aimlessly wandering North. “Thank you so very much!”

  “Have you any food for your trip?” the goat asks.

  “I do,” Bahi says taking off his pack and unzipping it. “Apple?” he asks.

  “Why yes, thanks,” she says before biting into the apple, dropping the rest, which she eats after her initial slow chew.

  Bahi joins in as he too crunches away at a sweet, warm apple. Finishing the apple, the goat walks over to a bush dotted with red berries and eats a few. “Come take some berries, they will give you strength.” Bahi comes over, closely inspecting the bush as he picks one off and looks at the plump, red berry, rolling it around softly in his fingers.

  “These are full of the life force.”

  “Life force?” Bahi asks.

  “Everything is full of it. Just some have more of it. Some are tapped in unblocked. You see, there is an all-pervasive force, and when you recognize this you can draw from the most powerful and avoid the weaker, which draw the life force from you. These berries are ripe with power.”

  Bahi pops several berries in his mouth, enjoying the sweet gush, igniting his taste buds to send them down to his belly. “Interesting,” Bahi says as the goat keeps on eating.

  “An old goat like me has been around, seen a few things, learned a lesson or two.”

  “I rekon you have,” Bahi says, eating more of the delicious berries.

  “If you can tap into the high energy of the life force all around, you will always be protected. Yet know that one day you too will grow old and frail as I have. Everything arises and passes away, and that passing is peace, so don’t grasp at even the sweetest berry. Just enjoy it and let it pass away.”

  “You’re very wise for a . . .” Bahi stops himself.

  “Go on, say it, ‘for a goat,’ right?”

  “No. I mean yes,” Bahi says embarrassed.

  “While my friend was still alive he would transmit some of the wisdom to me from the Great Master. He taught me a secret and way of living so I might be reborn a human in my next life.”

  “You may be better off a goat,” Bahi says softly.

  “No, don’t say that, we may seem to be doing well, but we suffer greatly. Most of us only eat, sleep and go to the bathroom, blind to any pleasure. I am fortunate to have been close to my goat friend, who gained wisdom from the Great Master. You, my friend, have a precious human life. Unfortunately, I often see in the villages that many choose to live like a goat or animal, simply eating, sleeping, procreating and making potty. This opportunity you have to use a mind of logic is a great one and should not be wasted with animalistic cravings. But who am I to say, just an old goat?”

  “You’re wiser than many humans I know,” Bahi says with a laugh.

  “Fortunate,” she says, “plain and simple, fortunate.”

  “Well I thank you for the wisdom and direction and wish you well, but I should be getting on before it’s too late,” Bahi says.

  “Yes you should, don’t travel in the dark. It’s dangerous in the dark,” the goat warns.

  “Thank you, friend,” Bahi says as they begin to descend the hill and walk off across the plain toward the great tree that towers above the rest. He looks back, smiles, and thinks of how fortunate he is to have met the goat.

  Coming to the large tree, he looks in wonder as he passes and steps onto the dirt trail washed with sun. The trail is open and dry, aligned with beautiful, vine-like bushes with small, oblong, green leaves that end at a pointed tip. The vines shoot straight up and hang over with the heaviness of bright, pinkish-red bell-shaped flowers that scent the trail as he kicks up a steady pace. He stops for water at a small pond and eats an orange, some nuts, and a roll with butter for lunch. As he sits silently, he listens to the sounds around him. Birds chirp, cicadas buzz, and the faint sounds of children in the distance lead him to imagine there is a small village closeby.

  Bahi notices the sun is about to retire. He resolves to find shelter for the night and build a fire. The pond is quiet, and as the white lotuses that decorate the water begin to close up for the night, Bahi gets up and walks on down the trail for a short while more, seeking refuge from darkness. The sun is now nearly gone from the sky. Finding a large rock that sits upon a dirt wall, standing tall, supported by tree roots from trees high above, he takes off his backpack. It’s not complete shelter, but it’s better than the open trail, he thinks, as he goes off to gather some wood. Digging a small hole and lining the perimeter with rocks, he skillfully places the sticks and larger wood pieces he has gathered in the hole before taking the small pot he bought to fetch some water from a nearby stream and wash up.

  As the last remnant of light dissolves, he sparks a match, igniting some dry leaves he has placed below the sticks and wood. They quickly catch fire, and he smiles as the campfire crackles, growing stronger. Placing the pot with water on top of a large piece of wood he puts two potatoes in the pot. The water slowly comes to a rolling boil, and he lays back with his head on his pack, sighing in the relief of having some luxuries now. Looking up, he gazes at the stars, now visible in the clear black sky and wonders what Eva is doing. He imagines them cuddling
up by the fire and talking about nothing in particular as they gaze at each other over some nice Himachal wine. The quick sizzle of boiling water flowing over into the fire, dissipates his fantasy as he uses his shirt to pull the pot from the flame, emptying the water. The potatoes smoke in the cool air, and he waits a few moments for the blazing-hot potatoes to drop in temperature. He mashes them up in the pot with some butter, and blowing off a bite, he plunges it into his mouth. Chewing the potato, he thinks of the delicious food he had in Dharamsala with Eva. He scrapes every last scrap from the pot. He adds more wood to the fire, shielding himself from the vast, dark forest surrounding him. The large rock to his back and the fire to his front give him a sense of security, as he lies in contemplation, gazing at the stars as he drifts off to sleep. He instinctually wakes up often in the night, adding more wood to the fire to combat the cold. The fire warms him to his core as he drifts back to sleep. Waking up a final time, he discovers he has exhausted all the wood. The fire sputters a final flame, which dwindles off of a charred log like a candle flickering to an end. Shivering, he wraps himself tight with his shawl. It’s just before dawn. The hills are blue from the yielding of night to the subtle blush light that struggles to create the day. A crescent moon, slim as a fingernail, hovers over the hills. The sun softly rises, as a howl from the distance cries out and a lone bird whistles in the forest. As the sky brightens, gentle breezes carress the hills. Bahi’s shawl, hat, and wool socks comfort the chill as he listens, still in a half sleep, to baby birds singing out in cadence to the morning’s birth.

  Bahi rises to his feet, still tired from a restless nights’ sleep. He stretches and gathers his things to get an early start. Dreading another day of hiking, he rubs his face awake, wishing he had a warm bed to rest in. But, he makes the best of it, pressing on in the cold chill of morning. The hike warms his blood, and as the sun begins to gently heat the day, he sits to eat some fruit, bread, and butter. The tepid sun eases his depressed mind and body, still weary from yesterday’s hike and only a few hours of sleep. He finishes his food and makes his way to a stream that runs along the trail and quenches his dry lips and throat. The smell of last night’s fire permeates his clothing and mixes with the scent of the cool morning breeze. Giving himself a pep talk while washing his hands and face, he thinks of how wonderful it will be when he reaches Shambhala. The cold water ignites his mind, perking his senses as he lifts up and moves on, shaking the smoke of lethargy from his head.